


There is no dignity in wickedness, whether in purple or rags

by Melokho



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, slight Humiliation/Ignoring Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melokho/pseuds/Melokho
Summary: Ignis petitions the king on behalf of the prince.





	There is no dignity in wickedness, whether in purple or rags

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saretus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saretus/gifts).

“Your Majesty.”

The title rolled of the boy’s tongue with practised ease, the words covering Ardyn like a coating of dark, molten chocolate, obliviously sinful in a way he never failed to appreciate; the cadence seemed to caress something deep inside him he never knew was there when he was being addressed be anyone else.

It was accompanied by a deep bow, a position Ignis held and would continue to hold until Ardyn acknowledged his presence. So obviously he did no such thing. He shuffled some papers around and pretended to be engrossed in reading them.

When he had first found the files and Regis’ notes on them, Ardyn hadn’t given much attention to them. It had only been a short time after he got himself comfortably situated in the Citadel and a variety of more pressing matters had occupied his mind back then — extinguishing all lingering traces of rebellion (which he excelled at), establishing at least a semblance of a new government (barely worth the effort), keeping existing ties to Tenebrae, the Empire, and the City States of the Accordo Protectorate (deemed a lost cause soon thereafter), and trying to bond with this scourge-ridden abomination of a crystal, twisted joke of the gods that it was (an endeavour whose outcome should not be talked about).

All in all he’d had his hands more than full already when Noctis made it top priority. Dealing with a four-year-old boy was one thing. Being granted guardianship over said boy when he was the one who killed his father was quite another.

That was when he’d remembered those documents and readily embraced the possibility they presented — pushing the responsibility of this insurmountable task on someone else, to let someone else look after the desolate prince. Regis had already found him the perfect candidate.

And to this day Ignis never gave him any reason to regret this decision.

Not merely for exceeding every expectation placed on him despite being as young as he was but also, and primarily, because he was easy — easy to manage, easy to manipulate. With the right leverage, of course.

Easy on the eyes, too.

His urge to finally look at him (and take in his perfect posture, the lean but muscular body accentuated by his smart choice of tightly tailored clothes, his welcome, if utterly, misplaced obedience), battled against the desire to draw this out just a little longer, play a mind game, see if he could make Ignis break before he grew bored of it. Even if he wouldn’t, the game was worth it just for the satisfaction he got out of playing. He could only win.

Ardyn kept pretending; he schooled his face into a show of deep concentration and studied the papers, sometimes scribbling out random notes across them, highlighting parts or crossing things out, hm-ing and ah-ing at certain intervals. Every now and then he turned a page.

Eventually Ignis made a quiet noise, not a sigh, but close, and shifted his feet to relieve some of the stress the position put on his back. “Is now a bad time? I can return at a later date.”

“If I wanted you to come back later, I would have told you so, don’t you think?”

“Of course. Pardon me, Your Majesty!”

He could almost hear the frown in his voice, even though Ignis would never let his emotions colour his words so easily; it took more than that.

“You may stand at ease,” he offered jovially while turning another page.

Ignis’ stubbornness prevented him from taking the suggestion, he noted with amusement and went back to completely ignoring the boy some more, pleased that he had gotten under his skin. He downright basked in it.

They had come a long way from their first meeting — Ignis, six years old, in khakis and knee-length socks, already eager for attention but oh so unprepared for actually getting it, the little fool. Pushing him, teasing him, had been delightfully effortless. Not that he minded having to work a bit harder for it nowadays; all the more rewarding.

He abandoned the pretence of work, crossed his legs and propped up his chin with against his fist, made it look flashy so Ignis would see even from his bowed position. His foot bounced to the rhythm of an unheard song.

Ignis, pointedly, cleared his throat.

“Oh fine!” He would have preferred to hear Ignis call him by his title once more. Well, there was always later, wasn’t there? “Alright then, you have my attention. What trouble do you bring before me today, Ignis?”

Clearly relieved, Ignis rose from his bow. “His Highness wishes to experience life outside the Citadel. He feels too isolated and disconnected from the people he is meant to rule one day. To this end he would request permission to move into an apartment— “

“No,” Ardyn said almost bored, because he knew that got to Ignis more than most things. Now seemed like a good time to go back to ignoring him. Back to the papers it was, then!

An apartment was it? To connect with his people? Surely not. To get away from Ardyn? Now, didn’t that sound a lot more likely? Noctis, that brat. For a second he felt almost sorry for Ignis who always had to play intermediary between the two of them.

“Please, hear me out! The number of benefits— “

“No!” he repeated more firmly and looked back up at Ignis. Colour had spread across his cheeks and down his neck where it vanished inside his collar. He held up his hands at an awkward angle, stopped mid-motion from their agitated gesturing. Ignis saw him take notice and promptly pulled them back, crossing his arms behind his back in a deferential pose.

It was probably meant to appease him and, to his chagrin, not entirely ineffective. He eyed the heavy paperweight sitting at the edge of his desk and imagined the satisfying crunch of it coming down on Ignis’ delicate, long-fingered hands. He would place them on top of the desk, digits spread, ready to be squashed, if so ordered. Reluctantly perhaps, but without question. Ignis only ever questioned Ardyn’s authority on behalf of one person—

“There must be a way to change your mind.”

— and that person wasn’t himself.

Ardyn loved it for its predictability. He also hated it because... just because. He didn’t need a reason.

“Do I hear a suggestion, my dear?”

The way Ignis’ chin turned ever so slightly down and his eyes refused to meet Ardyn’s was all the indication he needed to know where this was going, even before Ignis’ hand went to his collar and started unbuttoning his shirt. How exciting.

“I will do everything I can to ensure His Highness’ continued happiness.” It came out a bit too stilted to be called seductive. The undressing was too functional to be alluring. Too much brain and not enough heart involved, a regrettable flaw the boy couldn’t seem to grow out of. “Offer you my body to do with as you will. Hurt me or use me.” The words were more practised than they had been the first few times, at least. “Whatever you demand I will provide. So please, reconsider.”

He didn’t need to. In truth the only reason he cared was the amount of control it let him exert over both Noctis and Ignis.

When the last piece of Ignis clothing hit the floor, Ardyn crooked a finger at him and asked, “Hurt you?”

“Whip the skin of my back. Cut me until I bleed. Break every bone in my body.” Ignis stepped around the desk. He was half-hard but barely seemed to notice. Poor boy, did he ever wonder, if he would have still turned out to be the masochist he was, had Ardyn not taken him under his wing? “Is that what you want?”

Tempting. He did so love making Ignis scream. Though maybe not today. Still, he could play with him a little longer.

He pulled Ignis close and whispered into his ear. “What if I want to place my hands on your neck and squeeze. Squeeze and hold on tightly until you can’t- no, don’t need to breathe anymore? Would you let me do that, for your Noctis?”

There was a silence and it made his heart race like it hadn’t done in a long time, like he was the one being played with for once. Silence wasn’t a yes. It also wasn’t a no.

“Oh… consideration. It’s a scary thought, isn’t it, contemplating death. You are almost an adult, I’m sure it must have crossed your mind a few times, how finite life really is.” On a whim he placed a gentle kiss on Ignis’ temple. Goodness, what was this feeling? Giddiness? He nudged Ignis’ cheek with his nose, humming softly. “What shall it be, Ignis? Yes or... ”

A hand snuck up Ignis’ chest and curled around his throat; the thumb could feel the rapid heartbeats through the thin layer of skin.

Ignis opened his mouth but it made no sound.

Whatever it was that held the word back, indecision, fear, that animal instinct of self-preservation, Ardyn refused himself the moment to even think about whether that disappointed him or not.

“That’s a no then? Well in that case… better get on your knees.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ignis said, voice miraculously returned now that the choice had been taken from him.

He wasn’t the most proficient cocksucker. If Ardyn so wished he could have a different whore brought to him within the hour — one more skilled, more beautiful, more willing to fake enthusiasm.

He preferred this instead. The familiar way in which Ignis sank to the floor, arms at his side, folding his legs underneath himself. Having Ignis’ head between his legs and his hot mouth surrounding him as he ran his hands up his shoulders, over his neck, his hair, and tangled his fingers in those soft strands.

He knew what to expect when he pulled them just right, how far he could push before Ignis struggled and spattered, could tell the moment Ignis went from simply blowing him to driving him towards his end. He knew where to touch to make Ignis go faster, or slower, to make him use more tongue, to make him suck or lick. He knew that Ignis did the best he could despite and because he loved and hated every second of it.

It was over all more honest; and frankly intoxicating.

Right down to the moment he exploded in orgasmic bliss, Ignis pulling off the second he let him go to spit into a handkerchief and going right back to being immaculately dressed before Ardyn even felt most of his senses return back into his body.

Once the purple haze of release cleared from his head, he would be angry for reasons he didn’t feel like examining.

“Why are you still here?” he asked.

“You haven’t given me leave to go, Your Majesty. And-”

Ah yes, what question that brought him here in the first place. Ardyn was never not tempted to break this unspoken contract between them that whenever Ignis submitted to him, he would be granted whatever Noctis’ related nonsense he was begging for. Ignis must know this, too. He was still here, after all. Still asking.

But in the end the potential of continuing their interactions just the way they always had was too good to give up for a single moment of watching the realisation dawn on Ignis. Would the betrayal break him or make him stronger? No reason to risk finding out right now. One day though.

“Run to your prince like the loyal, little advisor you are and tell him the good news! I’m sure he’s eager for your return!”

Ignis didn’t wait to be told twice.


End file.
